Tattered Little Father

I keep a photo of a stranger. I rescued him out of an estate sale cigar box. He looked the most like me. Yellowed, tattered, barebacked on the helm of the Claire de Lune. He’s always smiling at me, my dad. I keep the little grinning fisherman in my pocket. On long rides, I cradle him in my calloused hands. I tell him about that girl I left, the time I stole the Volvo, that fight with the guy at O’Malley’s. My smiling dad has no unkind word. I’m glad I chose this father; I almost chose one in a suit.

Taylor Oren is a student at Point Loma Nazarene University majoring in Psychology.

Photo Credit: Kim L.

6 Responses to “Tattered Little Father”

  1. Jade says:

    I found this story back in 2018 and I come back for this story regularly. It’s beautiful.

  2. Michael says:


  3. Letina kelly says:

    Very smart and entertaining. I loved it!

  4. Junayd says:

    So so so deep. Very kind theme and words are awesome

  5. Tony Press says:

    Excellent – not just a great idea (which it is!), but well told, too.

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